


CAPTCHA BOX

by Tia_Maria



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: (I'll try to program the auto-update to do it every 3 days), (as in - he have power over people), 5.0.5 is an A.I. (he is a computer), Black Hat is a Prime-Stalker, Black Hat is a workaholic, Black Hat is much more than you think he is, Black Hat is powerfull, Captcha Boxes, Chapter size may vary, Dr. Flug is a really good hacker, Falling for the image of someone, Fic with Figures, Flug has toys, Flug is lonely, Flug wants to get laid, I Was Drunk When I Wrote Part of This, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I already wrote everything, M/M, Mention of gay porn, Please leave a kudo, Slug is a good friend, White Hat and Slug are married (Chap. 7), because he knows shit about everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:26:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18889006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tia_Maria/pseuds/Tia_Maria
Summary: Flug is a pro-programmer, used to do his daily work as virtual-manager of antivirus systems - as well as blocking all those persistent hacking bitches that want his clients' money.He’s been working in front of his bluish computer nicknamed as 505, for over 17 years - and not once, on his entire life as a programmer, had he ever seen such thing.He never lost to any other hacker before, especially one that seems to like hacking Captcha Boxes…





	1. PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> Haha, here I go again - with weird ideas that, for some reason, you guys like.
> 
> I vaguely remember reading a fanfic based on “CaptchBoxes” in 2011 when I was living in another country.  
> It was a… “Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade” fanfic. A One-Shot - if I recall correctly.  
> Never saw it again, unfortunately.  
> But, well, if my mind decided to come up with the same idea eight years later is probably because I liked it, right?  
> (If someone has found the fanfic that I’m talking about, I beg for a link!!!)

 

Flug was stressed, drinking from a bottle of soda, while trying to find the mistake on his CSS.

 

He has been working as a pro-programmer since young, but, having parents that were completely absent from his life, made him find other ways to sustain himself - he begun splitting RATs all over the internet with hidden codes that permitted him to hack into a user’s personal computer system, and save a little of that person’s cookies and keywords, mainly to have a back up plan for _paying the food_ once the other credit cards he hacked were canceled.

 

Once, he found some anonymous people on the internet that asked him if he wanted to hack a bank - he accepted, after all, he wanted desperately to move out from his house.

 

His parents' constant fights were getting annoying.

 

The first successful bank hacking he did earn him enough money to flee from his parents' lives and even leave a thousand or so dollars for them to _not_ look for him ever again.

 

Flug entered university and graduated solely by his own perseverance and hacking skills - taking a few dollars here and there. Mainly to sustain himself, but also to fulfill his capitalist consumption wantings.

 

After graduating, Flug started working by his own, creating and selling his own personal program of security system that not even another hacker could interfere - and, thanks to that, he made his name known. Getting more and more clients that seek the best security systems the market had to offer.

 

Thanks to that, he stopped hacking - he was earning enough money monthly that he didn’t need to resort to illegal ways of getting what he wanted.

 

However, if Flug was being honest with himself, _working_ was much more stressful than just _hacking_ . He has to block thousands of RATs that want to get inside his clients system every fucking time someone opens a goddamn _spam_ \- his immunity system was lacking energy because he was working all the time and just couldn’t give himself some rest to go jog on the park, eat a decent lunch or dinner, met new people and even get laid like he desperately wanted to.

 

Toys and porn could only satisfy so far.

 

Even though he wanted contact with other guys and girls, there was an intricacy that people like him develop over the years of so much home-captivity: you end up having _problems_ of going outside and interacting with anonymous people in a bar, for example. Which make them all prefer much more to just stay home, talk with people on virtual forums, and order delivery foods.

 

But, virtual friends not always are _true_ . They do not always _care_ about you the way you want them to - therefore, he is _alone_.

 

Flug has no _friends_ , and - besides some of his clients and people he rents to help holding the hackers until he had enough time to build another set of seven layers of crypt-secure codes - he hardly ever talk with anyone in real life.

 

He hardly ever _invite_ people over his home. A small house far from the middle of the town, near a park and a convenience store, a place big enough for him with perfect internet signal - what else could he ask for?

 

Sighing while sitting in front of the computer, typing one keyboard key per second or less, he finished blocking the last hacker that dared to pass through the first three layers of security that he created - thankfully he always have back up plans for those insistent bitches.

 

After dooming the computer hacker, he stretched his back and smelled the sweat odor in the air, Flug, then, decided to get up from the desk and take a shower.

 

“Hold on, fives.” He tells his computer, caressing the monitor as if it was alive. “I’ll be right back.”

 

The computer’s screen blinked, and Flug laughed.

 

Not just a machine, and neither just an operational system, 5.0.5 - as he nicknamed his computer - was an _A.I._

 

A tiny, small personal creation of his. An A.I. that sometimes helps him with schedules and advices - giving out different musics depending on the level of the hacking that is entering his security program.

 

Flug programmed him with identification voice, for it to respond immediately at his shouts, calls, orders, and caresses (because he wanted to be a better parent then his was, ok? even if his son was a _computer-program_ ).

 

Taking his clothes off, he threw them on the basket by his room’s door and entered the bathroom - preparing to have a long and well-deserved bath. His hands, though, stopped at the handle that turns on the water.

 

Slowly, he stepped back to his room.

 

“FIVES,” He shouted from inside his personal quarters, the screen of the computer blinking once again in reply although Flug couldn’t see it. “Play _Ginuwine_.”

 

A minute later the scientist went back to the bathroom with a small toy in hands and a slight blush on his face. As the music started to play from the speakers, Flug shouted again - while turning on the shower - for the A.I. to play it _louder_.

 

He was stressed.

 

Give the man some _rest_.

 

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

 

Flug frowned once he was back in front of the computer.

 

  


“ _What the_ \--”

 

Typing quickly at the F12 key to check on the origin of the Captcha Box, Flug saw that nothing weird was happening in the interface of the page, however, there it was, a random bright red old Captcha Box floating in the middle of his screen.

 

“Fives, it this a pop-up?” He asked the computer, looking at the A.I. reloading back to the desktop and making appear a balloon of communication in the bottom corner of the screen.

 

            /N0/ - it answered him.

 

“Do you know _what_ is it?”

 

The same answer persisted.

 

Humming, curious but intrigued at the same time, Flug decided to prepare his computer before answering. Ordering 5.0.5. to turn on four of the seven walls he built, Flug told him to also shield the antivirus and keys of his virtual pockets.

 

Slowly, he took a deep breath in and typed the words.

 

[ _Hello,_ ]

 

For a moment, Flug held the air inside his lungs and waited for the worst - another full night having to deal with an insistent hacker that doesn’t give up no matter how many times he blocks the fucker.

 

But… Nothing weird happened.

 

Instead, another Captcha Box appeared - but it didn’t make any _sense_.

  


 

It was like a normal Captcha Box this time.

 

Like two real nonsensical words that don’t fit together thrown there for people to write down and get through the decoded site, they want to visit.

 

But it was curious nonetheless…

 

Maybe that last Captcha Box wasn’t a hacker at all? That it was just too coincidental?

 

What’s the probability…?

 

Flug is good in maths, he knows that Captcha Boxes can be hacked - but, at the same time, if it was indeed a hack, he should be able to notice some ID hidden in the codes…

 

The curiosity of the programmer picked up.

 

He wanted to _check_ , just to make sure he was not crazy - or, at least, to make sure it was just a plain coincidence.

 

So, instead of typing the correct words into the Captcha Box that popped up in his screen, he wrote:

 

[ _Hello, anon?_ ]

 

For some reason Flug couldn’t tell, he crossed his fingers and bit his bottom lip while waiting for another captcha box.

 

His cell phone started to ring, taking his attention away from the computer for a second - the device was in the kitchen, so he went there to take it. Taking the opportunity to fill him a glass of water.

 

He got a message from one of the guys he hired to secure some programs he was testing for exchange-houses and banks (oh, the _destiny_ ), telling Flug that he got a problem with the A.I. Flug created for that specific program.

 

Answering the man through his phone, he tryed to fix the problem without having to restart his own system - Once the problem was solved, Flug sighed and finished his water. Sitting back in front of his computer, though, he almost spit the remaining liquid still to be swallowed.

 

 

 

“ _Oh my god._ ”

 


	2. PART 2

 

“That’ll be 4 dollars, sir.”

 

Humming, Flug gave the cashier the money and picked his grocery bag. Slowly, he stepped outside and opened his umbrella - it was raining really hard.

 

For some reason, the rain calms him, and makes him want to go out instead of a sunny day. Go figure.

 

Walking down the street to reach his house, Flug opened one of the lollipops he bought with a few other necessities like toilet paper and coffee, and delighted himself in its taste all the way until he reached his beloved home.

 

Once inside it, he greets 5.0.5., watching the screen of the computer shine bright in reply. Putting the coffee into the kitchen cupboard and the candies on the refrigerator, he prepared himself a tea, then he saved the toilet papers on the bathroom and took his wet clothes off - small bits of it got dirtied with the water on the streets so he decided to take a quick shower and put his pajamas since there was no necessity of going out again that day.

 

Sitting comfortably in front of his computer, Flug opened his e-mail, and all the prime sites he goes to.

 

When he opened the security antivirus system he was working on, another pop-up showed up.

 

Flug bit his bottom lips, remembering the day before.

 

Even with the other hacker limited to two/three words - they managed to talk for the whole night. Flug almost fainted from exhaustion in front of the computer when his eyes started giving up. But he didn’t regret.

 

Whoever was that person, the professional programmer was delighting himself with the adventure.

 

He found somethings out solely by a few words - like…

 

That anon isn’t a robot, is male, is much older (though he didn’t say the year he born), and clearly knew more about him than should be comfortable. Flug, once, succeed on finding one of the paths that lead him to some kind of ID that was blocked and secured - however, doing his side hacking fastly, he found out the main resource of the Captcha Boxes.

 

They were coming from the parliament building address.

 

He scratched at his head, confused. He couldn’t be wrong.

 

It was then, in a sudden realization, that Mr. Captcha Box was the man behind the _thousand eyes_ \- he was the one working behind the numerous street security cameras that watch all over the city.

 

It unnerved Flug that he may have been watched every single day he decided to go out - but at the same time, it intrigues him how much that stalker is engaged in following Flug’s steps.

 

He never had a stalker before. He was alone for so many years he actually likes the idea of someone paying attention to him - even if it was in a bizarre way, like, using the street’s cameras just to watch him.

 

Sipping from the freshly made tea he poured himself a few minutes ago, Flug stared at the new Captcha Box that appeared in front of him.

  


 

It was clearly a normal Captcha, for anyone that looks at it - two words that don’t make any sense, but, to Flug, it was clearly a signal that Captcha-Box-Guy was behind some screen wanting to call his attention.

 

Fingers lingering over his keyboard, he typed a key or two, then he erased - instinctively.

 

Flug bit his nail, thinking about it for a moment.

 

“Should I continue this…?” He asked himself, in doubt.

 

That man could easily disturb his life, especially if Flug gives the man enough access to his computer with so much time spent chatting. He fears for his work, his own security investment - he doesn’t want to mess with the clients he built confidence with.

 

It was just that… something, inside him, wanted to know that anon better.

 

For some reason, Flug couldn’t point.

 

Like a bulb of light switching mode on over his head, Flug got an idea - if that man was really engaged in stalking him, he could get one step forward and get as much information as he could _likewise_. This way, he could be sure what kind of person he was.

 

It has been so many years since he hacked inside a person’s personal computer and ID he feels dirty in doing it - but he told himself it was for his own security, so, yeah, he decided it was a good idea after all.

 

Typing back the Captcha Box, Flug replied.

 

[ _Good afternoon, sir._ ]

 

As he pressed the enter button, he picked his mug of warm tea and raised it to his lips, sipping the beverage.

 

After another Captcha Box popped up into his screen, he picked his cellphone to text two of his helpers, ordering them to keep watchful eyes over the entrances and layers of the main security system, especially the banks’ ones - because he needed to do a _side project_.

 

Right when he sent them the message, another Captcha Box appeared in his screen.

  


Flug felt a shiver run down his spine for a second. _Why_ that man called him "doctor was _beyond_ his understanding, but… for some reason, he felt exposed.

 

He used to have codenames when he was young and liked to hack into people’s accounts - one of the biggest robberies he did (the one on the central bank, that leveraged his life to a better one), was done under the codename as _Doctor F_.

 

But that was no way that stalker could know it. He burned every single information about that code from his computers, linking the information to other people’s IDs so it looked like _obvious_ that it was that person’s fault and not Flug himself - honestly, he practically threw the blame on other random people.

 

There was _no way_ someone could find out. Absolutely **no way**.

 

So he decided to laugh confused (although a cold sweat ran down the back of his neck for a second), and typed in reply.

 

[ _?? Not a doc, I’m a programmer_ ]

 

After sending the response, Flug took a deep breath in and started to open his hidden browser, turning on his VPN-app to mask the origin of the research he wanted and followed the path of all the captcha boxes lined up to the network he was connected to.

 

Until the end of the night, he sure will get a clue of who that person was or where he’s hiding.

 

Another Captcha appeared a second later - undisturbed or not caring about the tiny virtual-worm digging through the layers that were separating them.

  


 

It’s funny that Flug understands the small details of the man’s way of typing, like this last one Captcha. He uses the “--” in the end, a way of explaining that he wants to continue, but doesn’t have space to do it, therefore, it’s the quickest way of telling Flug to just answer back with a dot or a space for him to send words again.

 

That was their way of talking through Captcha Boxes, without each other know or get too suspicious - it gets them the false sense of security.

 

Flug answered back with a space and waited for the man to upload another Captcha Box.

  


Flug hummed curiously.

 

Does it?

 

[ _To me, it does._ ]

 

He answered back, sincere.

  


Flug, sipping from his tea, looked at his side, watching the virtual worm scratch at a layer of information he couldn’t go throw - typing some code to analyze the layer, the programmer found out it was protected by some kind of ID keyword.

 

As if he had nothing to fear, he decided to type a question to the random guy. Something he forgot to actually ask on the day before.

 

[ _So, I’d like to know my stalker’s name_ ]

 

It was daring, sure. He was purposefully telling the man he knows the guy was stalking him - might even get in trouble if he keeps bringing it up without valid profs, but, anyway, he asked nonetheless.

 

The answer came quickly.

  


 

“ _Shit…_ ” Flug whispered to himself.

 

That man probably knew he was stuck on layer four.

 

Raising a hand to his chin, Flug scratched the small bit of facial hair he got there - thinking.

 

That hacker was good.

 

Flug started to type, but then he stopped - thinking on what’s the best way to make that man think he’s just a dumb programmer as any other, searching on the internet or picking on random layers just for fun, and not someone that was honestly curious about the person behind the screen. And was trying to get passed all the security layers that were leading Flug to that man's webcam, for example.

 

[ _Well… I could use both, but I'd rather know more than just that._ ]

 

For a moment Flug froze his fingers over the “enter” button. Should he really start that kind of conversation? I mean… it was pretty obvious that Flug was indeed curious, but that sounded like he was… well… wanting **_something_ **.

 

Biting the nail of his tub, the programmer pressed the “enter” anyway.

 

There's no way that man would get or recognize the second meaning of that, right? - that is…  any sane guy would ignore that, right?

 

Mr. Captcha Box, apparently, didn't.

  


 

Flug openly laughed at the words, ignoring his own flushed face.

 

He wasn't sure if that man was just playing back a silly joke, or he was honestly offering.

 

[ _Heh, one day, who knows. But, really, I want a name._ ]

 

After replying, Flug decided to look at the anonymous browser he was using to try hacking into Mr. Captcha Box's personal computer. He rubbed the end of the towel, that was hanging on his shoulders, over his head, cleaning the remained water drops from the shower that lingered on his locks.

 

Looking on the browser he frowned confused. On the fourth layer that he was trying to get through, a link popped up. He checked his VPN to make sure no one was going to know his ID if he opened the link and decided to enter it, once everything was safe enough.

 

Flug's face blushed deeply when he noticed where that codified link sent him to.

 

It was a porn video.

 

A _gay_ porn video.

 

His eyes widened and he fastly pressed the pause, hiding his red face with the end of the towel. His breath was a bit unstable.

 

He wasn't prepared for that.

 

Suddenly, another Captcha Box popped up on his screen. From between fingers, Flug glanced at it, face much redder than before once he read the blurry words.

 


	3. PART 3

 

Pressing a hand onto his flushed face, Flug felt really confused.

 

He can’t believe what happened.

 

First, he was trying to get throw the layers of some random hacker’s personal computer ID to understand who that fucker was - then, out of the blue, he was watching an adult video, searching for some hidden code that was obviously put somewhere for him as a hint about that man’s name, while trying to  _ not get excited _ .

 

Which was hard. Really.

 

That man had a  _ really good taste _ for this kind of pornography.

  


 

Flug read again the blurry words on the screen, biting his nails to try giving them a purpose other than scratch at his bonner.

 

Whoever were those men on the video, they were  _ good _ . Flug decided to mute the porn, because he sure would get hard if he kept listening to those two hot guys moan loudly and deliciously on his speakers. 

 

However, he may save the link for later - for his own enjoyment.

 

The main problem now, was that the hidden ID was almost  _ impossible _ to be found in the middle of all the closes and zooms and  _ movements _ . Too many details to pay attention - his mind just  _ flees _ to the middle of the actor’s legs unexpectedly when they start to move  _ fast and hard and---- _ .

 

Flug’s face was warm, and he instinctively looked at his sides suspicious - there’s no way he’s being  _ watched _ , right?

 

But, no! For a second,  _ yes _ , he thought about pleasuring himself while looking for the hidden ID, but, no,  _ nope _ , not happening - he needs to pass over that freaking hacker’s security-layer.

 

_ He’s no weak. _

 

Since the last captcha message was sent with a double “--” in the end, it meant that man wanted to write something more, so he replied with a dot for him to update the image on the pop-up box.

  


 

“... ya  _ fucker _ .” He cursed the man, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling it get hotter.

 

Of course, the hidden ID was in the audio - because this guy was a  _ bastard _ .

 

[  _ Fuck you. _ ]

 

He sent in reply, pressing the “enter” button and unmuting the video - listening to the marvelous sound of two guys doing the dirty on a dark expensive couch.

 

While waiting for the man to update another captcha massage, he decided to analyze the view.

 

The active man was, obviously naked, except for an army hat and a few dog tags that soldiers use for identification - he was…  _ hot _ . Black. Bulky. Well-endowed. Six-pack. Man-Candy hard chest. Strong. Someone Flug would  _ love _ to invite over his house.

 

Before he could analyze the passive guy or the place they were in - another captcha box popped up on the side of his screen.

  
  
  


First, Flug instinctively bit his lip and flushed. 

 

Alright, so we came to a resolution that Mr. Captcha Box is not kidding and  _ indeed _ does like to fuck guys.

 

“ _ Hm... _ ”

 

Then, after the embarrassment was over, Flug shivered and started to sweat cold for a second.

 

Could that man be a rapist?

 

Nah. Hackers don’t rape.  _ They don’t have balls to do it _ \- Flug thought to himself, remembering the time he met thousands or so hackers on his young age. Thousands and thousands of people saying what they would do if they had someone in front of their virgin genitalia, but, really, neither of them would actually  _ do _ anything - it was all just  _ talk _ .

 

The programmer waited a bit thinking about what to reply. His mind was blank.

 

Actually, no, his mind wasn’t blank - there was a lot of things occupying his mind, like the desire to put headphones and enjoy the porn like there's no tomorrow. However, he is a man on a mission at the same time.

 

He needs to get that man’s name and get passed layer 4.

 

He watched the video, attentively, listening to the sound trying to analyze the rest of it.

 

The passive guy was much lankier, but he also had some biceps - the face was cute, hair was messy like they were being pulled and played with (probably it was, while kneeling on the floor to  _ give head _ to the bigger guy).

 

Flug’s attention picked up once he heard the director shout something at the actors.

 

He shouted a name, and the active man looked up. So, that was the actor’s name.

 

_ Bruno _ .

 

Pausing the video for a second, Flug re-opened the hidden browser pages he was using to hack over the layers to get at Mr. Captcha Box personal system and typed the name.

 

That wasn’t the keyword.

 

Flug groaned frustrated. That wasn’t funny at all. He wasted twelve minutes of his life listening to a porn video without actually  _ enjoying it _ \- just to find out a name that isn’t the keyword!

 

He wanted to curse the man again, his fingers already typing some bad-words, but--

 

Then, he got an idea.

 

What if that man was kidding him, just to make him  _ hot _ ? Maybe he could get something in return if Mr. Captcha Box believes he  _ fell _ for that.

 

Grinning mischievously, Flug erased what he had written down and started again.

  
  


[ _ What name should I scream when I come, then? _ ]

  
  


He pressed the enter button and rested his back on the chair, sipping from his (now much colder) tea.

 

Let’s see  _ where _ they both could go with that, while playing the same game.


	4. PART 4

 

Black Hat was _speechless_ …

 

In the dark, not completely obscured solely by the light coming from the numerous screens in front of him - the tall, dark-skinned man raised a hand to his own mouth thinking on a good enough answer, while the program system of captcha boxes on his main screen was showing the last thing typed by that slim, smart and really good ex-hacker.

 

Input words:< **I’d rather do u** >

Output words: <[ _ What name should I scream when I come, then?] _ >

 

Write Input words:< **|** >

 

From his side, another screen was blinking calling his attention. Showing his schedule and the time - informing him he had less than an hour to go change for the council meeting.

 

Humming, Black Hat clicked a few hidden tabs on the two mini-screens attached to the side of his main computer and started to change the view in a few cameras - he typed three keys at the same time, appearing a shortcut window on the first mini-screen. There, he typed a series of 8 numbers and waited for the program to run the path and load the view of  _ that _ specific camera.

 

While it loaded, Black Hat eyed at his own vests.

 

He was comfortable, but he was a  _ wreck _ \- social shirt open, ashes of his cigarette marking his dark trousers. He may have gotten a bit hard watching the beginning of the video he sent Mr. Programmer (or Mr. not-a-hacker, like he calls sometimes).

 

Yeah, he surely will need a shower before the meeting. 

 

When the screen ended the loading, a low-quality live-video appeared - being recorded by one of the cameras installed on  _ Hillback Avenue _ .

 

The camera was on the perfect spot to watch over a bright cream-color window, with a yellow-flower pot on the sill.

 

From inside the window, just a little bit could be seen - but was  _ undeniable _ . 

 

This was  _ that man _ ’s living room.

 

So, watching from afar like the freaking stalker he is, he knew for sure that, that cute-little-programmer-guy, was  _ not _ jerking off.

 

He grinned, knowing that Mr. not-a-hacker was just engaging in the  _ pretend _ as a side way of getting his real name and pass through his fourth layer of security.

 

But, really, it wouldn’t be bad  _ at all _ if he  _ was _ jerking off to the video. Scratching at his own hardened protuberance, the dark man groaned a bit disappointed.

 

Black Hat almost wanted to light up another cigarette, sighing stressed.

 

“Damn…” The hoarse voice said, cursing his own life. “I work too much.”

 

He pinched the middle of his eyebrows. His eyes were tired - he had been doing extra hours for so long it was almost  _ routine  _ for him to lose track of time on his particular security and monitoring station of the county. 

 

In that place, he does one of the main duties he is daily engaged to. There, he works as a  **_hawk_ ** (professionals in civil monitoring).

 

However, in less than an hour, he will have to leave and go back to his  _ second _ duty - as one of the city’s aldermen  _ and _ senior advisor of the president.

 

It’s gonna be one  _ long _ afternoon.

 

Therefore, they’ll have to end the conversation early today.

 

Looking back at the main screen of his computer, Black Hat fastly typed and sent another captcha box in reply.

 

Input words:< **The intention counts** >

Output words:< _ [Blank] _ >

  
  


Mr. Programmer answered  _ faster  _ than he’d guessed.

 

Input words:< **The intention counts** >

Output words:<[ _ I’m close! Please!] _ >

 

Black Hat grinned, laughing internally. One leg resting over the other.

 

“Oh, isn’t he  _ funny _ ?” The man purred his words between teeth, sensing a slow burn raise inside his lower part.

 

He uploaded a reply.

 

Input words:< **You first, then** >

Output words:< _ [Blank] _ >

 

After that, he waited.

 

Honestly, he already  _ knew _ that man’s name, because he has access to  _ every _ house inscription that’s established inside the real estate registration office and even some other ones  _ outside _ of there as well. 

 

So he  _ knows _ Flug Slys.

 

But that wasn’t the bastard’s  _ real _ name - it couldn’t  _ be _ . There was nothing he could track about Flug’s  _ history _ under that.

 

Well,  _ nothing _ is a lie. He’s a prime hawk - he could get a little bit of information searching here and there.

 

He knows, for example, that Flug is almost  _ forty _ . He knows he was born on Germany, and he knows which bank accounts he had and used frequently. For some reason, he  _ also _ knows that Mr. Programmer is addicted to coffee and tea because  _ every single _ grocery store payment receipt has at least two or three different units of those hot beverages - not something a single person would buy when living  _ alone _ .

 

Which, indeed, Black Hat knows he  _ does _ .

 

He bought the house in less than six years. Had paid in the normal quantity of parcels (probably as a way to not drag too much attention to the source of his money). He never had a pet - which means he might be allergic to fur,  _ or _ is a  _ neat-freak _ . 

 

Flug barely leaves his home, so he probably works inside it. He doesn’t bring people over too much - which could mean a  _ lot  _ of things (Thankfully, Black Hat scored right on this part).

 

Over thousands of other random information - the dark-skinned man still finds it  _ too little _ .

 

Yes. 

 

Black Hat  _ is _ a stalker.

 

And not the cute one. He knows shit about people that no one wants to share - because he likes to  _ know _ the truths and secrets. To hold in his hands, small bits of information that no one else  _ has _ .

 

But Flug is  _ good _ in hiding his own history. That’s why Black Hat, in his vast knowledge of stalking, has to recognize that man’s hacker skills.

 

Never, in his entire life, Black Hat had so much difficulty on knowing something about someone he is _ interested in _ .

 

The answer on the captcha box delayed more to come, like Mr. Programmer was thinking really hard on what to type in reply.

 

So, while waiting, Black Hat decided to keep watching the video he sent Flug.

 

He actually lied about his name being hidden in the audio.

 

He never  _ watched _ it before.

 

He actually barely watched  _ gay porn _ before - just a few on his young ages.

 

But choosing that one wasn’t difficult - first he searched for the best-voted video that had similarities with the tags Flug used the last time he entered in a public pornography site and the first that matched, he sent the man a link.

 

It worked just fine. It was clearly one that pleased Mr. not-a-hacker, so the effect came back as well - it felt  _ good _ . Pleasing someone that isn’t involved with politics, and neither is looking for you as a resource of something, makes him feel  _ great _ .

 

Black Hat liked the sensation of entertaining the man and being entertained by him as well - without him knowing how powerful the dark-man behind all those screens could be.

 

Suddenly, the answer came.

 

Input words:< **You first, then.** >

Output words:<[ _ You already know it. It’s your turn.] _ >

 

Oooh, so Mr. Programmer is  _ indeed smart _ , isn’t he?

 

What else does he  _ know _ ...

 

Humming, Black Hat glanced at the time and noticed he had a little bit more than half an hour to start getting prepared.

 

Input words:< **Is dinner involved?** >

Output words:< _ [Blank] _ >

 

Licking his lips, the man behind the street cameras couldn’t help but feel the funny sensations inside his belly. Like he wanted to _ devore _ a piece of that cute keen man.

 

His position in the County’s Council wouldn’t permit him, though. Other people with as much high-class contacts as him would probably make rain false news just to decay Black Hat’s reputation.

 

But… he isn’t just  _ any politician _ , is he?

 

He could say that in his hands reside so much blackmail material he could almost be called a  _ king _ \- he knows so much  _ shit _ happening under everyone’s noses that not even the  _ president _ could deny him something.

 

Flug answered his captcha box in a few seconds after that.

 

Input words:< **Is dinner involved?** >

Output words:<[ _ Could be. Is that an invitation?] _ >

 

Purring, Black Hat stared fixedly at the live-video filming the outside of Flug’s living room.

 

He was there.

 

Staring directly back at the camera on the other side of the avenue, drinking hot tea from a mug shaped like an airplane. Chest and arms resting on the window sill. Goggles flicking under the moonlight.

 

Black Hat opened a brightly grin at the view.

 

“Aren’t you a  _ smart one _ ?”

 


	5. PART 5

 

Flug was resting his head on the window sill, enjoying the cold air of the night.

 

Mr. Captcha Box was delaying too much on answering back.

 

Is he jerking off while Flug is looking at him? 

 

That sure wasn’t an idea that should make Flug feel funny inside - as he (for some reason) did feel.

 

“I should review my preferences.” He whispered at himself, finally noticing how weird things were going. 

 

He was the one that agreed to dinner and probably even more!?

 

Was he  _ that _ desperate and curious?

 

As bizarre as talking with some random guy through Captcha Boxes and all - the weird and funny thing - is that Flug is  _ enjoying _ it.

 

_ Immensely.  _

 

He doesn’t see Mr. Anon as a treat, he sees him more like… a hacker as good as himself - something  _ rare _ to find.

 

Flug may have started falling for the  _ image _ that he created of that person.

 

_ Yes _ … he knows that’s dangerous.

 

A sound of a pop-up sounded through his speakers and another Captcha Box appeared on his screen. Rolling his chair back to the position in front of the computer, Flug read.

 

 

 

Flug tried to remember the exact words he used the last time, and blushed at the answer he got. His own uneven heartbeats suddenly startling him, while his fingers lingered over the keyboard.

 

Then, the programmer guy sent a dot in reply - waiting for the rest of it.

 

****

 

Flug sighed, almost whimpering for a second - he was so  _ curious _ . He wanted to get passed layer four  _ before _ getting to bed.

 

[  _ The name. Pleeeeease? _ ]

 

He knows he sounds ridiculous doing this. Don't blame him for being curious.

 

He wasn't bluffing when he said he knew that Mr. Captcha Box already knew his name, but he wasn't completely sure either. Flug thought for a second: if that man knew where he lived and was probably watching him from time to time, it was  _ obvious _ he could look his name up on the house register. 

 

_ Flug would do the same. _

 

In the end, he was right. So, since the man behind the cameras  _ knew _ it - It's only  _ fair _ that he knows the other ones as well!

 

Those hawk men working on civil monitoring were never revealed to the people on the city's site and public state employee list.

 

It would be  _ hell _ to find a way to hack that information - this kind of thing is done in  _ papers _ and  _ archived _ , never put online.

 

While thinking on another way of getting that information, Flug was biting the nail on his thumb - lost in his own smart mind.

 

Suddenly, a reply appeared in the form of another Captcha Box.

 

****

  
  


Hiding his breath inside his own lungs, the programmer gaped, feeling a blush crawl up his cheeks.

 

Slowly he pressed the dot on the keyboard and sent him back the captcha to upload the rest of it.

 

****

 

Flug forgot to actually breathe while waiting for the reply and felt his heart beat a lot faster with the prospection of knowing who was the man behind the screen.

 

Again, he pressed the dot and sent it back.

 

The last part delayed a bit to come, and Flug started to bite his nails again in worry that it was all a joke in the end.

 

The programmer sighed, thinking about it.

 

Yes, of course it was a lie.

 

Taking his hands away from his mouth and combing his hair with it, he felt it was already  _ dry _ .

 

_ How long had they been talking? _

 

Walking back at the bathroom, he pulled the towel over his neck and hooked it on the wall.

 

Once he was back at the computer, he saw another Captcha and his heart started to beat fast once again.

 

But… that wasn't a name.

 

****

  
  


Flug arched an eyebrow.

 

Was it a puzzle?

 

Then, he rolled his eyes at the nonsense. Of  _ course _ he wouldn't just give him the freaking name that easily.

 

He knew HTML language. And that was  _ obviously _ a way to program the  **black** color. 

 

But… headwear?

 

There were so  _ many _ …

 

“Think Flug,  _ think _ !”

 

He sat again on his office chair, trying multiples keywords. From “Black Cap” to “Helmet Black”, when, one of his tentatives, while typing “Black Hat” as a keyword - it happened.

 

The fourth layer  _ vanished _ .

 

And, in a sudden realization, Flug gasped.

 

“B-Bl-Black  _ Hat _ ?” The programmer stuttered, eyes unfocused. “A-as in-- Could he be  _ really _ \--??”

 

His fingers lingered over the keyboard, typing fast.

 

That just  _ couldn’t _ be real.

 

[ ... _ Are you White Hat’s brother? _ ] 


	6. PART 6

Black Hat had just started packing his stuff to go home as fast as possible, or he wouldn’t get ready in time for the meeting. His fingers worked some last tasks he had to end before starting the auto-rec and sync it to his mobile for emergency remote-monitoring, turning some of the screens down.

 

His finger paused over his keyboard for a second - before closing the Captcha-Box program, he checked his security system to see if Flug had indeed succeeded on breaking throw the fourth layer.

 

His eyes widened a bit and he grinned once he saw that, _yes,_  indeed he succeeded on it. Quite _fast_ , actually. But, given that Mr. Programmer was a professional on the matter, he had, in fact, typed a rather easy tip of his name.

 

In his chest, somehow, he felt proud on the smart cute man.

 

“ _Well done,_  Flug.”

 

Checking his back pockets for his cell phone and keys, his hand took the mouse one last time to close the window of the Captcha-Box program - but one last answer came back.

 

An answer that made Black Hat froze on the spot.

  


Input words:< **#000000 Headwear** >

Output words:<[... _Are you White Hat’s brother?]_ >

  


“... _What th--_ ” The dark man sounded completely surprised. “ _How?_ ”

 

Black Hat knows Flug’s steps, movements, he knows who Flug talks to, and their names--

 

_Flug doesn’t know his brother._

 

White Hat is the most _improbable_ person Flug could know about.

 

His brother was a fucking **_activist_ ** . He’s in the other side of the continent, working on a movement to save a freaking _bird_ or something--

 

In the freaking _**Amazon rainforest**_!

 

It doesn’t make sense!!

 

His mobile phone buzzed on his back pocket, telling him he had to go _now_.

 

Grunting in frustration and anger, Black Hat closed the tabs and programs and took his suitcase in a firm grip.

 

Once the meeting is _over_ , he’ll have to make an international call.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, so I'm uploading the seventh part earlier.


	7. PART 7

 

“What do you mean you got  _ married  _ ?!”

 

He couldn’t sound more indignant than that.

 

A laugh on the other side of the phone wasn’t easing his nerves at all.

 

**_“_ ** _ Weren’t  _ **_you_ ** _ the prime stalker? _ **_”_ **

 

“Not with people I  _ don’t want to _ .” Black Hat said, barely listening to a low ‘ _ ouch _ ’, followed by the fake humorous laugh of his brother. “I thought you were trying to save a  _ parrot _ or something from going _extinct_?!” He asked harshly. “When did _this_  happen?!” 

 

**_“_ ** _ It’s called  _ **_Blue Crow_ ** _ , brother. _ **_”_ **

 

A nice and calm voice said through the speakers of Black Hat’s phone.

 

**_“_ ** _ And I can assure you that we can find love  _ **_wherever_ ** _ we are!! _ **_”_ **

 

The other man sounded much sweetly as he continued, making Black Hat frown in  _ nausea _ .

 

**_“_ ** _ Even if the other part is actually--  _ **_one_ ** _ of those nasty people... that were... trying to...  _ **_hunt down_ ** _ the beautiful creature you were trying to _ **_save_ ** _... _ **_”_ **

 

He whispered the words, remembering the weird and funny history he had with his current _husband_ , for almost a  _ year _ before they got the chance of getting to really  _ know _ each other. 

 

White Hat almost lost himself in his own thoughts, grinning and laughing like the  _ dork  _ he is. Fond of the marvelous memory.

 

Black Hat groaned at the phone, calling him back to reality.

 

**_“_** _A-anyway!! I_ ** _did_** _send you an invitation to the wedding,_ ** _but_** _, as you said - and I quote the_ ** _exact same words_** _because I almost had to chain Slug from going all the way there and burn the parliament down to ashes because he_ ** _loathes_** **_politicians_** _\--_ ** _”_**

 

White Hat explained, saying the last part a little bit lower to not drag too much attention from someone that was near him - then, he continued.

 

**_“_ ** _ You said-- ‘I don’t care about your life, White, and much less about the unfortunate soul that’s going to be living with you, don’t bother me and go be happy’. _ **_Then_ ** _ , you just… didn’t come to the ceremony. _ **_”_ **

 

Black Hat frowned for a second after hearing that.

 

Yeah… now that White Hat said that, he vaguely remembers something similar happening two years ago.

 

At that time he was in the middle of the presidential mandate and was re-elected as one of the prime officers that work behind the head of the government to control and change the votes under the federal justice system.

 

He  _ barely _ had time to sleep and hide the stolen money - of  _ course _ he couldn’t attend the wedding.

 

“Right…” He said in reply to the story, once he understood what happened. “ _ Well _ ,  regardless of the news, I actually called to ask you something.” Black Hat started, arms resting in the balcony grill, smoking a cigarette.

 

**_“_ ** _ Of course you did. _ **_”_ **

 

White Hat sighed, already expecting it. Black Hat wouldn't call him just to  _ chat _ . Even when the activist actually  _ needed  _ someone to talk to - he just  _ knew _ Black wouldn’t be that person.

 

The alderman smoked his cigarette, taking the air deeply into his lungs and asked.

 

“Do you know a man called Flug Slys?”

 

For his surprise, White Hat sounded  _ worried _ .

 

_ “...Y-yeah, Flug, we know him.” _

 

Suddenly, the calm and clear voice coming from the other side of the phone _changed_ for the harsh and deep one of his brother-in-law.

 

**_“--Tha’ fuck did you do to him?!”_ **

 

Black Hat exhaled the smoke from his lungs and buffed, offended.

 

“ _ Why would I have done anything? _ ” He waved his hand around as if they could see it, outraged. “That’s a proofless accusation, I can  _ sue _ you for this.”

 

**_“_ ** _ Black, did you do something? _ **_”_ **

 

His brother’s voice came back to the phone, but it was clear that he was put on the loudspeaker. The politician sighed, rolling his eyes.

 

“I _didn’t_.” He answered through teeth. “Ease your _amazonian_ asses, _geez_.” Throwing the cigarette out of the balcony, he turned his body to let the grill support his back and replied. “He knows _you_ \- **_How?_** That’s _all_ I want to know.”

 

White Hat seemed to be whispering something at his side, away from the microphone, like he wanted to be sure about something. Then, he took a deep breath in and answered.

 

**_“_ ** _ He went to the same college as Slug. _ **_”_ **

 

The activist answered, and explained after a second - thinking on the best way to do it.

 

**_“_ ** _ They were best friends, so we invited him to the wedding and  _ **_he came_ ** _. _ **_”_ **

 

Humming, Black Hat raised a hand to his chin in thought.

 

“Then, consequently, he met  _ you _ . And, for some reason, you just told him about  _ me _ ?”

 

It was physically impossible for the dark-skinned stalker to see White Hat shrugging, but he knew his brother enough to know he did just that.

 

**_“_ ** _ He’s a nice person, brother, don’t  _ **_ruin_ ** _ him. _ **_”_ **

 

Laughing, Black Hat frowned at himself, noticing his hands were sweating.

 

“Can’t promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'll write White Hat/Slug's story. It will be called "Blue Crow" as you can guess why.  
> I did not start. But it probably will be shorter than this one, and much more... romantic also.  
> Well, tell me if you guys like the idea - maybe it makes me start on it earlier.


	8. PART 8

 

“Hmmm…. _awwoo_?” The heavy voice of someone that has not rested enough to be awake, said through the speakers.

 

**_“_ ** _Hey, Flugbahn, it’s me._ **_”_ **

 

The nickname was an old one, and used by _one_ single person.

 

“S-s _lug_?”

 

**_“_ ** _Aye._ **_”_ **

 

Flug raised from the bed, rubbing his knuckles on his tired eyes. He had put an all-nighter again and was really in need of a _long_ rest.

 

It was actually funny that Slug had called him, Because he had been thinking about calling them in the night before.

 

“What’s up, man?” He asked friendly. “It has been a while.”

 

**_“_ ** _Flug, do I have to worry?_ **_”_ **

 

Arching an eyebrow in confusion, the program barely had time to answer before another question was made.

 

**_“_ ** _Do you want me to kill_ **_someone_ ** _?_ **_”_ **

 

For a moment, the man frowned worried and laughed - what is Slug talking about?!

 

“W-what? _No!_ ” He replied. “ _Why_ would I need you to--”

 

Before he could end it, his friend retorted.

 

**_“_ ** **_Black Hat._ ** **_”_ **

 

Widening his eyes, Flug finally understood what was happening.

 

So Slug _knew_ he had been talking to White Hat’s brother… but… how _much_ does he know _exactly_?

 

“We don’t really… _know_ each other.”

 

**_“_ ** _White is talking to him at this exact moment on the other side of the living room._ **_”_ **

 

For a second, Flug bit his lips and froze his breath.

 

What should he say to that?

 

Did Black Hat call his brother to ask about him? What is White Hat and Black Hat actually talking about?

 

Flug pressed a hand into his stomach and rested his forehead on his raised knees over the bed. He had been awoken by the ringtone, he was still under the blankets.

 

“...Is he asking about me?”

 

**_“_ ** _Do you_ **_want_ ** _him to ask about you?_ **_”_ **

 

“For some reason that I can’t really explain… _yes_ , _yes I_ **_do_ **.”

 

Flug could feel his face getting hot.

 

**_“_ ** _You are lucky I’m not there to punch some_ **_sense_ ** _into you._ **_”_ **

 

The programmer guy laughed at the phone, he knew he was shameful.

 

His cheeks were agreeing with Slug, reddening even more - but he had at least his pride to fight for.

 

“The one that fell for a _jungle guy_ wasn’t _me_.”

 

**_“_ ** _I--_ **_”_ **

 

For a second, Slug lost his words. And Flug knew the man was blushing as well.

 

**_“_ ** _I told you what happened, it wasn’t_ **_sudden_ ** _._ **_”_ **

 

Flug laughed at how uncomfortable the man sounded.

 

Indeed, Flug heard their story.

 

And it was a nice one. Always precious to hear it all over again.

 

“Hey, really, it’s _fine_.” He said slowly, trying to hold the yawning in. “We barely talked, I’m not even sure if things will progress or we're just flirting.”

 

Humming, Slug replied.

 

**_“_ ** _If he does something to you that you didn’t agree firsthand - you_ **_call me_ ** _._ **_”_ **

 

Flug smiled, like he always does when his friend gets a little bit too protective. It was his own way of showing _care_. Although he was a little brute sometimes…

 

“Aye aye, Captain.”

 

Ending the call, Flug went back to sleep - he still didn’t feel rested enough to be productive.


	9. PART 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas came earlier.

It was seven o'clock.

 

Flug was biting the end of a pencil while looking at his system.

 

Something was not running right…

 

Outside, the sun was still lighting up the place waving in a farewell to those still working. Besides his computer, a mug of coffee was placed, getting attention from time to time. He was only on his underwear because it was a hellishly hot day and he lives alone - he had to close the window to make sure Black Hat wouldn’t be spying on him from the Street’s camera.

 

A part of him actually wanted to leave the window open and show the man what he was _missing_ by not showing himself up on his front door with a bottle of wine in hands - because, really, the hacker approached him first so he should be the one doing the first move - but his self-preservation talked louder.

 

His long skinny cream-color legs were resting on top of his CPU, on the ground, and the back of his chair was supporting all his weight.

 

Flug was looking at his ceiling, trying to come up with a solution to his problem on the program he was updating, but he just couldn’t _think_ of anything. 5.0.5. was trying to help, but he also has limitations on this kind of situations.

 

Yet, half of his mind was trying to understand _why_ Black Hat didn’t contact him for two whole weeks after that day.

 

The ex-hacker tried to pass through the last layers that were blocking his way over Mr. Captcha Box personal computer system - and he did! He did get passed the last layer, but… he just found _nothing_ there.

 

He even turned the Webcam on to see who was the man behind the screens. But no one was there.

 

Black Hat simply _disappeared_.

 

In the news, _too_ - The man's shadow was rarely seen in the recordings of public hearings.

 

For the following days, Flug stayed up at night working and waiting for any sort of contact, and would always end up sleeping until late because of that.

 

Since that day, he had been giving himself pleasure more than usual. The prospection of being _watched_ would always make him hot inside (and down there). He had bought a new toy just to scratch that feeling of wanting to have something _different_ inside him.

 

Like _now_.

 

Just the _idea_ of having someone invading his house and taking the opportunity that Flug is barely dressed to just jump his lonely body, or the idea that some guy, dressed as a deliveryman, would offer him a _different_ way to pay for his pizza, was already making Flug feel less miserable about wanting to met someone with too high standards such as the black man disguised as his previous Mr. Captcha-Boxes. 

 

The programmer never had bondage fetishes before… but the _idea_ of someone blindfolding Flug and abusing him all night long wasn’t _distant_. He could even get the opportunity to mentally tell himself that that was punishment for his unreachable cravings.

 

“Daaaamn…” He sighed through teeth, biting really hard into the bottom of the pencil, almost breaking it. “I want to get _laid_.”

 

His phone called his attention, showing he had a new particular message.

 

Picking the device in hands, he unlocked the screen and his eyes widened.

 

**Hello, Mr. Programmer.**

**Still wanna have that dinner?**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's it.  
> Thank you for your attention.  
> Please, leave a kudo. ❤


End file.
